Blut und Tränen
by Billywick
Summary: Germancest, no other pairings, nor are they important at all. Germany-centric. I suck at summaries. Though I put it as Angst, this fic contains humour too. And smut. Very lemonirific. Gay county-incest, sex and musings on Nazis. You've been warned.
1. Spürst du die Sehnsucht?

**Note: There's a perpetual lack of Germancest. This is not acceptable. Enjoy. Translations of the german dialogue at the bottom.  
**

**Blut und Tränen  
**

„Shhh, sei still Bruder! Sonst hören sie uns."

Gilbert couldn't believe Ludwig had the nerve to say that to him whilst ramming himself inside the Prussian's ass with all his might.

Easy for him to say, alright.

Gilbert did his best, clutching to broad shoulders and burying his face in his brother's shoulder. Yes, it was his brother fucking him here, in this…well whatever this cupboard was for, it was tiny, dark and now cramped. Well, it probably hadn't been designed as a secret place for Germans to fuck in. But that was certainly what it had become and not for the first time. Ludwig was far kinkier than most people or nations gave him credit for. Gilbert knew. Gilbert knew because his dear brother lived out his kinks with him, his lover, best friend and brother.

Right, it would probably make sense to backtrack as to how they got to be in the situation they were in. Fucking inside a tiny cupboard directly attached to the meeting room of the current World Conference. America had continued, despite the suspicious absence of both East and West Germany, but any moment now, they could discover the brothers rutting away in their little dark hiding place.

It had started off so innocently as well. Gilbert had taken yet another break to go smoke in the bathroom, bored shitless by the topics of the meeting. Economy, environment, third world countries…It never changed. He remembered, back in the day, when Europe WAS the world. When no snotty loudmouth brat from across the ocean declared himself the hero of the world and ordered them all around.

Oh, Gilbert would give him a mouthful, a damn piece of his mind, but he knew it was pointless. Not just because it was extremely difficult talking any kind of sense into America, it was a downright uphill struggle, that one, no, it was also because no one listened to him. Almost as invisible as Canada, Prussia had faded from importance a long time ago. Now he was Germany and Ludwig was Germany. And everyone rather dealt with Ludwig than with Gilbert.

Ludwig, who had followed his brother, driven onwards by some sort of devious desire, had slammed him against a wall, silently burning up for him, sky-blue eyes begging for Prussia to give in to the ever-present sexual tension between them. Gilbert had smirked, accepting the needs of his brother, playing a little game of seduction with him. But it hadn't even been necessary. Ludwig had practically dragged the albino into the cupboard by his hair, arousal pulsing through his body. Oh, everyone thought Germany had fizzled into a hard-working, quiet temper…well, mostly true, but only for his dear Ludwig, the accepted voice of Germany. He, Gilbert, the insignificant east, was the same and so, was to be ignored.

He knew why, too. It wasn't his admittedly sometimes obnoxiously cool behaviour. Neither was it the fact his original country had been dissolved and he was just…the other side of Germany.

No, he knew why. And so did everyone else. Countries had better memories than elephants. And those memories had recorded meticulously a little event called world war two. Or rather, the certain roles of world war two.

Ludwig had been a high-ranking officer in the Wehrmacht, or rather; he'd had the duties of one. But Gilbert? Gilbert had been…well let's just say he looked damn good in black. Why? Prussia hadn't been entirely for the Nazis you might say. Well, true enough.

But Gilbert was not just Prussia. He was also…well a person. And he had been perfectly suited for this work. He knew damn well his brother would become horrified by this work, would probably surrender and make them lose another world war. Gilbert couldn't have that. His era was coming to a harsh end and he would have done anything to keep his brother pure and strong.

So, in the end, when the allies had confronted them, it had been Gilbert, in his beautiful, cruel, black SS uniform that had offered to take on the entire blame, the punishment, the dissolution. Because he loved his brother. He loved him more than anything in his entire life. The immoral side of it had never concerned him. Loving his brother? Was that supposed to be a sin? Oh please, he had done so much worse. Not that he felt guilt for it.

No. He'd suffered enough punishment, he'd never feel guilty for those years, for those actions.

So nowadays, Gilbert didn't say much in meetings.

One word, or a sentence suggesting some sort of plan of action and all eyes would wander over him.

He knew what they were thinking. He wasn't stupid. He could read it in their expressions…America. That pitiful, young nation with more brawn than brain, his eyes were tainted with fear. The same as when Russia spoke. Alfred feared the ex-satellite state Gilbert represented, the little satellite that had been armed up to the eyeballs in order to strike at him, the "hero".

Russia. Not someone he was interested in speaking to either. Russia was still broken; something had shattered the behemoth's mind when his precious Union had slowly crumbled. Russia was a loose cannon, but not one he, Gilbert, feared. No. He'd made his peace with Russia, even if it was a hateful, don't-speak-to-me peace. Russia had kept Gilbert alive after the war, by separating him from his brother. Unnecessarily cruel punishments as retribution for the war crimes he and his brother had committed kept Gilbert from ever being grateful to Ivan. And that would never change.

Neither would it change the way France, England, Denmark, Norway, Poland, Belgium and Hungary looked at him. "Nazi. You're still a fucking Nazi!" their eyes, they screamed it at him.

The worst part of all this was probably how little Gilbert cared. He was not ashamed. He never would be, because what else could they do to him? Kill him? Impossible without committing genocide on his people.

Ludwig's people.

Ludwig…

Oh his dear brother…He had…changed.

It had started a few months back. It was subtle, real subtle. His brother had been so stressed, overtaxed with his enormous workload which he was unwilling to share. Damn workaholic. But it seemed, even Ludwig succumbed to stress. Because something inside of him had snapped. Gilbert remembered it almost fondly.

It had been a long time since his brother had been so rough with him. Not just from sexual lust, but from a deep need to dominate him utterly, to have him begging for mercy, to have him submit like a dog.

It had happened several times since then, but Ludwig was utterly unable to speak of it. No, it wasn't something Gilbert could bring up in a casual dinner conversation. It was a dirty little secret and if he, Gilbert, had to shut his mouth in order to feel that overwhelming sadistic lust radiating from his brother again, he would shut up.

Of course Ludwig wouldn't speak of it. He was ashamed, so deeply ashamed of his past. Their past. Not one word about those times had passed his well-shaped lips and that was not likely to change.

He still flinched when someone called him a Nazi.

.

It never used to be like this.

An animalistic grunt escaped the blonde German as he continued pushing his brother towards his orgasm. His hands were slamming the albino's hips hard against his own, burying himself again and again in his own brother. He could feel his finish approaching, but there was no stilling this insatiable lust. Like a man dying of thirst, it could only be slaked, never quenched. Ludwig had wondered what was wrong with him before, usually after he had fucked Gilbert so hard the albino fell straight asleep in his arms.

It never used to be like this.

He had always, as long as he remembered, desired his brother. There was no changing that fact and Ludwig had made his peace with their incestuous relationship a long time ago. But he had always been loving towards his brother. He cherished Gilbert and he never wanted him to think otherwise.

So why on earth had he begun to be so rough? When on earth had he become such a nymphomaniac that he couldn't turn down a fuck in the middle of an important meeting?

Okay, there was a time…A time when Ludwig was rough with his dearly beloved brother. When he had lived out some truly dark fetishes and pushed even the albino to his limits.

But that time was long over and Ludwig never wanted to think of it again. What he had done back then was unforgivable, a fact he never failed to remember.

Ever since the Unification, Ludwig had paid extra attention to the needs of his brother whenever he could. And their sex had been…loving, always. Even if it may have been very heated for a couple of months due to their long separation. But it had never been this…animalistic.

Oh god, Gilbert was starting to bite his exposed collarbone, whining and moaning against his skin. Ludwig felt his brother's hot, wet tongue trace over his firm skin, leaving marks, scraping against him in a desperate bid to stay quiet.

This was insane! Everyone was next door! Right outside! If they found them like this…Well Germany's reputation, his hard-earned reputation that he was a good nation, a strong and dependable and honest one, would go down the drain. No respectable nation fucked their brother.

Gilbert whined again, his ass was probably getting sore from the harsh pounding it was subjected to.

"Oh ja, Scheiße, Bruder, liebst du es, wie ich dich ficke?" Ludwig heard himself whispering hotly into the albino's ear.

What? What was that tone in his voice? That low, dangerous growl? He must have been…very frustrated recently, because he could feela part of him blushing with mad embarrassment about this. But somehow, that part seemed…very distant, with no control or attachment to Ludwig as he pushed onwards.

Speaking of pushing onwards, Gilbert was really moaning loudly into his chest now. It seemed he couldn't keep quiet, no matter how hard he tried to bite his tongue or press his mouth into Ludwig's skin. The younger of the two brothers could only smirk. It felt good, so damn good, to shut his loudmouth brother up, to fill him up so entirely that even Gilbert couldn't come up with something clever to say.  
Or at least, so he thought.

"Ah, West, dein Schwanz is härter als ne Panzerfaust, kesese, hattest…ha, du es so nötig?"

Oh that damn dirty mouth! Gods, next time, to keep him quiet, he'd just shove his member between those smirking lips. The thought was utterly attractive to Ludwig, to think of Gilbert choking on him, but loving every second, greedy lips and tongue working him over…

With another, incredibly hard thrust against Gilbert's prostrate, Ludwig came, without regard as to whether his partner had been pleasured to his climax too. But conveniently, feeling his brother come inside of him was enough for Gilbert to also reach that wonderful place as he unloaded between their sweaty bodies. The albino slumped against his brother, giving a pleased, purring sound.

Ludwig opened his mouth to scold his brother for his earlier, hastily panted words, when an ominous creaking behind made him stiffen up. And not a second too late, because the flimsy wooden door had given up its hopeless existence and just broken from its hinges. Both of the Germans would have tumbled to the floor if it hadn't been for Ludwig's reflexes. He clutched his brother to himself and stumbled backwards, but he stayed upright. He took a relieved breath.

Before realizing they had just tumbled from a cupboard, half-naked and sweaty, covered in various fluids and utterly breathless in front of the entire world.

(translations:

"Shh,sei still Bruder! Sonst hören sie uns."

"Shh, be quiet brother! Or they'll hear us."

"Oh ja Scheiße Bruder! Liebst du es, wie ich dich ficke?"

"Oh yes shit, brother! Are you loving it, how I'm fucking you?"

"Ah West, dein Schwanz ist härter als ne Panzerfaust, kesese, hattest du es so nötig?"

"Ah West, your dick is harder than a Panzerfaust, kesese, were you that horny?")


	2. Fühlst du das Fieber brennen?

**Blut und Tränen Teil 2**

**(Translations below)****  
**

Ludwig could be such a grumpy bitch.

Gilbert had found this out many years ago, but damn, he was really feeling the short end of the stick these days. The blonde was almost explosively tense, worse still since that little accident at the World Conference.

He had to grin, just thinking about it. The looks on everyone's faces were priceless, so shocked that he cursed himself for not having a camera on him right in that instant. Priceless indeed. America had been so…traumatized that the meeting had to be postponed. Idiot. For being such a confident little bastard he sure was frigid concerning sexual matters. The only one radiating approval had been France.

The relationship to his two best friends was still rocky thanks to WW2, but two sweaty Germans in post-coital bliss in public had obviously been all it took to earn French approval. Well, they were both extremely good looking, it had to be said.

But the one most stressed by the aftermath of the closet-incident had been Germany himself. Well, West Germany. Ludwig had hardly been able to apologize for missing most of the meeting; his face had been so red Gilbert was afraid his brother might die of some internal bleeding in the face or something.

He himself had of course not apologized for a damn thing; he thought it was fine and dandy if he and his brother wanted to fuck during a meeting, thank you very much!

It was a shame Ludwig didn't think the same. So, for weeks now, he'd been pissy with Gilbert. Not like it was the elder brother's fault, but Gilbert was always around, so naturally he got the lion's share of Ludwig's irritation. Anything and everything could trigger a tirade followed by a lecture followed by annoyed silence.

It pissed Gilbert off, to be the scapegoat for everything around the house. But he could, contrary to popular belief, be sensitive to others' needs. Ludwig's in particular. So he tended to keep his mouth shut, his music down and his contact to his brother minimal. He didn't know how many times he had played his videogame collection through. He didn't really notice the days pass, but the nights; he would always keep a careful watch on.

Ludwig usually knocked at his door at around eleven PM, grumbling something about going to bed and getting up early. Gilbert was never tired when the knock came, but he went to bed with Ludwig every night, regardless of what he was doing at the moment.

It was…their one little solid tradition, alongside with breakfast in the morning and walking the dogs together every weekend.

He didn't speak of his troubles to Gilbert. Ludwig was never a whiner and no amount of stress would change that. Usually, they got in bed, sometimes a bit of loving sex took place, and then both Germans slept through.

Just by observation though, Gilbert had begun to notice there was something…off with Ludwig. For example, loving sex had become a mythical occurrence he could only daydream about whilst pleasuring himself.

Ludwig went straight to bed, pecked him on the lips and wished him a good night, and then he was asleep, solid as a rock.

This in itself wasn't the strange part. Or rather, this had become the norm between them.

Until right now.

Gilbert had woken up; it was probably around three AM, with something binding him in place. He was a restless sleeper, tossing and turning, so something like being bound woke him up immediately.

_"Öffne die Augen…"_

His crimson eyes opened and took a moment to adjust; it was pitch black in the room, there was nothing to see. He felt the restrictions on his wrists; they felt like cloth…So 'someone' had tied him to the bed, ey? Perhaps this would turn into an interesting night after all.

"West? Warst du das hier? Was soll die…Scheiße…"

The words had died in his throat as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he saw just WHAT his brother was wearing.

Holy. Fuck.

He didn't know Ludwig had kept this uniform, let alone in immaculate condition.

Dark, coarse material clung to the blonde's muscular frame, enhanced his impressive appearance, and hid any kindness reflected in his face. Well, there wasn't any to see in the first place.

_"Vergiss nicht, wem du dienst…"_

With a breathtaking intensity, Ludwig's eyes opened and focused on his brother.

A shudder ran down Gilbert's back. Oh, he knew that facial expression. And that pose, sitting in the armchair by the window, leg propped up as he watched him on the bed. Ice-blue had never been a more fitting description for his brother's eyes.

"West…?" he tried again, but this time, those cold eyes met his own, unflinching, unyielding and unforgiving.

"Nein. So wirst du mich nicht nennen, verstanden mein kleines Miststück?"

The albino gulped involuntarily. The commanding tone of voice used made him snap to attention and melt at the same time. Fuck, this would be a great night!

"Nenn mich gefälligst bei meinem Rang, Miststück."

If he wasn't in control of himself, Gilbert would have drooled.

Fuck, he must still be asleep, because this only happened in his kinky dreams which gave him the hardest morning wood he knew. He'd play along, of course, this promised some kind of satisfaction he hadn't known for a while.

"Jawohl, Reichsmarschall Beilschmidt…"

His voice had been soft, low and obedient.

A purr, almost.

In any case, it had pleased Ludwig who rose from his chair. His hands bore leather gloves, fingers enclosed around a riding crop, military issue, 1935. Gilbert could tell from the mere size and design, after all, he had always been a militant sort of country with a huge fetish for his army.

"So ist es besser…Und nun, auf die Knie, meine kleine Hure. Ich wird dir dein hübsches Maul stopfen."

Polished boots came to a halt next to the bed, Ludwig watching as Gilbert struggled to obey the command to get on his knees.

Difficult when one's arms were bound.

But he managed it eventually; arms stretched behind his back as he eagerly knelt and leaned forward.

Ludwig had already freed his arousal, gloved hand digging into messy, silvery hair, pulling Gilbert's mouth onto his member. The blonde gave a satisfied little grunt,

"So ist es brav, Preußen."

* * *

The next morning, his head hurt like hell.

As if someone had slammed it into a wall continuously. It was Saturday morning, so Ludwig didn't have to get up early, but he still woke up at eight AM. That WAS sleeping in for him. Unsurprisingly, Gilbert was still asleep next to him.

Ludwig took a moment to observe his dear brother. Gilbert was so beautiful when he was asleep and silent. He almost wished the albino would be like this all the time, but that came a little too close to death for his comfort.

So, Gilbert was fine the way he was, but Ludwig loved these quiet moments where he could just admire his love.  
The albino looked really tired, for one, he was sleeping on his belly. Two, he was entirely naked. Not unusual for Gilbert, but usually, he managed a pair of boxers for decency's sake.

This morning, he was entirely naked and drenched in old sweat…not to mention, his wrists looked abused somehow.

Had he been out last night? Ludwig was pretty sure his brother had gone to bed with him like every night. This was odd. Where had Gilbert been to get like this?

A bad feeling rose in Ludwig. Bad enough that he began stroking Gilbert's hair whilst thinking of all possible scenarios.

A touch, even as light as this, was also enough to wake Gilbert up. Soldier's instincts had always been part of his personality.

"Moin' West…" he mumbled sleepily, a sated smile on his lips. Which also looked sort of abused.

"Morgen Bruder…Wo hast du dich den rumgetrieben?"

Gilbert stared at his brother quizzically. Was it too early, or did Ludwig really just ask if he'd been out last night?

What sort of bad joke was this?

"Haha, sehr witzig, seh ich so Scheiße aus?"

„Naja, hattest schon schönere Tage."

A silvery eyebrow shot skywards to disappear amongst tousled silver strands of hair. Gilbert stared at Ludwig.

Was he just dreaming last night, or had his brother really had some hot, kinky sex with him which he wasn't acknowledging now?

He groaned and let himself fall back into the sheets.

He should lay off of the…he hadn't even been taking drugs, damn it! Gilbert gave a heavy groan and let himself fall back into the soiled sheets.

Ludwig better not be a grumpy bitch today.

* * *

Translations:

„Öffne die Augen."-„Open your eyes."

„West, warst du das hier? Was soll die…Scheiße…"-"West, did you do this? Why did you do this…shit…"

"Vergiss nicht, wem du dienst…"-„Don't forget whom you're serving."

„Nein. So wirst du mich nicht nennen, verstanden mein kleines Miststück?"-„No. That's not what you're going to call me, understood, my little slut?"

"Nenn mich gefälligst bei meinem Rang, Miststück."-„Address me with my proper rank, slut."

Reichsmarschall-pretty daaaaamn high up in the Wehrmacht.

„So ist es brav, Preußen."-„That's a good Prussia." (…its like he's addressing a pet.)

"Moin' West."-"Mornin' West."

"Morgen Bruder."-"Morning brother."

"Haha, sehr witzig, seh ich so Scheiße aus?"-„Haha, very funny, do I really look that bad?"

„Naja, hattest schon schönere Tage."-„Well, you've had prettier days."

Gosh, lots of German in this one xD I REGRET NOTHING!


	3. Gefangen in Angst und Dunkelheit

**Warning! This chapter contains violence and Italy bashing! If you're fond of the little git, I'd advise you not to flame me, since I warned ya!**

**Blut und Tränen, Kapitel 3**

„It has recently come to my attention, that there is a distinct lack of discipline at these meetings. I find this very uncouth and do believe it should be addressed…"

England seemed to have found a new favourite subject to get pissed off about. Maybe it had been Germany's united act of….well, you remember the closet incident. Or perhaps the fact that France had decided to wear less to every meeting. Currently he was sporting a pair of silky boxers with an Eiffel tower print. And some shiny shoes.

To say these meetings were usually far more serious, the attendance had become lax and the standard too. Maybe it had something to do with Germany no longer erupting into epic speeches about rules of conduct. Ludwig in general seemed subdued, like his mind was heavily occupied with something other than work. Right now, he just seemed to be shuffling some papers around and dropping notes of what to address in the next meeting he had to lead.

Right now, they were supposed to discuss the western reaction to Egypt. Sure, their politicians weren't present, but that didn't mean that they could just discard the seriousness of the situation, right?

Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temples as England's voice reached a higher pitch as he tried to verbally defend himself from some French obscenities.

Seeing as half the western world was missing anyway from this meeting, Germany decided his presence was not needed. None of the Arabic countries had shown, America had somehow been too busy, Russia didn't deem it as a problem he'd need to deal with. So not even the G8 were fully present. Italy had attended, only because he knew better than to piss of Germany by not showing some sort of intellect or at least interest in worldly matters.

But the little Mediterranean nation was now watching his ex-ally gather up his things to leave, so he decided to follow the blonde out of the room. Not that anyone noticed.

Ludwig just wanted to go home now. He had already spent enough time this week working. In fact, he'd been locked away in his study, only showing up for brief and silent dinners with his brother. Gilbert had been forced to cook. Make no mistake, the albino was by no means untalented in the kitchen, he was just damn lazy. He hated shopping for meals and he hated cooking them every day of the week.

But when Ludwig got like this, it was Gilbert cooking or no one got a decent meal. So East Germany had reluctantly taken on his job as 'chef'. Even now, he was out shopping for the next week. Of course, Ludwig had dropped him a note of what limit he had on the card. They didn't need to have smoked salmon and caviar and other ridiculously expensive things in the fridge for every day.

But back to West Germany. Currently, he had stopped by the water fountain in the hallway. He looked around after taking a drink, then dug into his suitcase and produced a pack of cigarettes. They belonged to Gilbert, but he always bought stacks and stacks, so he wouldn't notice the absence of one pack. Ludwig didn't know why he had begun smoking again. After 1945, he hadn't even bought a single cigarette, but recently, the urge had come up again.

Sinking into one of the chairs in the hallway after opening a window, Germany leaned back and lit his cigarette. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. After so many years of not smoking, it was like getting high. Well, not that Germany had gotten high recently. He had before, hey, it was the 70's, everyone did it so why not him? Of course, that was a secret. Not even Gil knew that. Ludwig's heart did a pained little twist; because Gilbert had been behind that damn wall. That was the only reason he didn't know.

Another drag of his first cigarette in years. He wondered why Gilbert chose these particular ones. They were strong and a bit cheap. He had to think of his brother smoking this very cigarette in his hand. Oh, how he'd wrap those pale lips around the filter, breathe in deeply….then sigh with bliss as he exhaled blue-ish smoke…

Ludwig always said he didn't approve of his brother's habit. That he didn't like the smell on him and he certainly didn't like kissing an ashtray. Oh, how Gil would laugh and mock him right now. Then he'd probably tease him, sit down in his lap, steal a bit of the cigarette and blow the smoke in his face. Ludwig couldn't deny that the thought alone was…pleasing to say the least. His brother was such a sexual being and he was perfectly aware of his aura, his unmistakable appeal. Especially for his uptight younger brother.

Thinking of Gilbert brought Ludwig to more recent events that puzzled him. Lately, the albino seemed to spend much more time at home than anywhere else, though he always bore marks of adventures. Adventures with someone else. Ludwig had, after two weeks of suspicious activity, come to the painful conclusion that Gilbert must be seeing someone else. For sex, undoubtedly, Ludwig knew his brother loved him with all his heart. But he still had bruises on his body that he had gotten somewhere. Not from fighting, as Gilbert claimed. Ludwig knew his brother often went out to particularly shady bars just to get into a tussle. He'd bailed the albino out of enough situations.

No, these were different. Gilbert didn't proudly display them like fighting injuries. Choke marks, cut wrists like he'd been chained up for hours….Was Gilbert visiting one of those S&M clubs? Ludwig hoped so, because if his brother was having some sort of affair with a nation, he'd be incredibly pissed off. East and West belonged together and they'd proven that to the world with their anguish during the time of the wall.

Fuck, it was damn annoying. Where was Gilbert going? And when? When Ludwig was sleeping? That would be very strange, it would mean Gilbert got up after they went to bed and went out. Sure, it wasn't impossible…But if he was going out, why didn't he tell Ludwig? He probably didn't want Ludwig knowing, but that wasn't Gilbert's style at all. To keep such a secret…It hurt. Why did he do it? Was Ludwig not…satisfying him? Gilbert's voracious appetite for sex was no secret to his younger brother, but he had never, in the long time they had been together, expressed a need for more than Ludwig gave him.

Germany's musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Someone else had left the meeting and was coming his way. Ludwig didn't move, he just continued his cigarette.

"Ve, Doitsu, there you are!"

It was Northern Italy, coming to look for him. He should have expected it. Italy still seemed to think they were allies, or friends. Once upon a time, Ludwig had thought Feliciano was a true friend, one he could trust and sort of rely on. Well, rely on to be unreliable in a way. That had always been an Italian thing in his mind. The personification of the nation didn't act half as old as he was. How he had managed on his own was a mystery to the German, one he never bothered to solve.

"Sorry I left, Italy, but I didn't think the meeting was very productive."

"Ve, I didn't know Doitsu still smoked."

The little brunette stood in front of him now, smiling as if he'd just given a pretty girl a bouquet of roses. His hazel eyes were watching Ludwig intently, though he was pretty dense, he could sense there was something off with his friend.

"I…don't usually. They're my brother's…"

"Doitsu, is everything okay with you and Gilgil?"

Ludwig looked up. Was it that obvious he was having domestic troubles? Something irked him about the fact even Italy picked up on it. And that he used his stupid nickname for Gilbert. If the albino had heard it, he would have cringed and bitched about it later.

Ludwig rose to his feet, flicking his cigarette ash out of the window.

"Everything is fine, Italy. Thank you for your concern."

"Ve, don't worry Doitsu, you can tell Italia!"

Did he have to talk about himself in third person? And why in god's name was he still using Japan's way of saying Germany's name? Italy was a damn weird puzzle.

Suddenly, the little nation began clinging to his arm and babbling.

"Is Gilgil not making Doitsu happy? Ve, Italia can help! Italia knows a lot about romance! Though not so much about romance with brothers…Gilgil is probably like a girl, right? Does he want Doitsu to do nice things for him? I know Doitsu's brother is very troublesome for Doitsu, maybe Doitsu should find a nice girl or boy and make a little amore? Italia knows some very nice girls!"

Then suddenly, his tone changed and his clinging got a little more intimate,

"Italia can also be a very nice…girl, if Doitsu would like some amore."

The words arrived in slow motion in Ludwig's brain. When he realized what Italy had just suggested, something in his head snapped.

Italy watched careful for a response in Ludwig, preferably a shy blush and nod. What he got was something totally different and totally unexpected.

He probably wouldn't have minded being slammed against the wall, had Ludwig's face not been what it was. Germany's eyes were ice, there was no other way to describe it.

The muscular Blonde needed only one hand to press little Italy against the wall, at arm's length, hand dangerously close to his throat. Those icy eyes did not leave Italy's scared face, calmly, Ludwig took another breath of his cigarette. He let the smoke blow in the brunette's eyes. Italy sputtered and coughed, begging for Germany to let him down, he was sorry, he didn't know what he did wrong.

"As if you do not know, Italy."

Even Ludwig's voice had changed and Italy knew only one other period of time where he had sounded like this. World war two.

"You betrayed me, you little whore. And now you dare badmouth my brother?" another drag of his cigarette and Germany's hand tightened, moving to Italy's trembling throat.

"Doitsu! I'm scared, please let me down! I-I-I, I'm your friend Doitsu!"

"Halt die Schnauze!" the German snapped, a deep growl in his voice. Italy instantly shut up, but he couldn't stop the scared little whimpers.

"You betrayed me, Italian whore. You were never my friend, understand? I do not want or need your acquaintance, you aren't even worthy of living, little bitch."

Feliciano began choking in earnest now, Ludwig's iron grip was mercilessly constricting around his neck.

"If I hear you dare speak about my dearest brother again, I will make you wish you'd never been founded, Italy."

Tears were in the Italian's eyes but he managed a miserable nod. Ludwig didn't relinquish his hold just yet. He took a last drag of his cigarette and flicked it out of the window before letting Italy fall hard on the ground.

He turned and left wordlessly, deaf to the sobs behind him.

"OI POTATO BASTARD! OPEN UP!"

Gilbert looked up from his current movie and bag of crisps. Who the hell was it now? It certainly wasn't Ludwig, he'd come home earlier and had disappeared into his study without even a greeting.

Gilbert dragged himself to his feet. He hadn't bothered getting more dressed than a pair of pajama bottoms. His torso was naked as were his feet. It was summer in Germany and Berlin could get damn hot at night.

The pounding at the door was starting to damage his calm. Aggravated, he decided to make the rude bastard in front of his house wait longer as he lit himself up a new cigarette. He had to go out and buy a new pack, because his current one had mysteriously disappeared. Strange, he didn't think he'd smoked that much this week…

Eventually, the albino opened the door with an unbelievably bored expression.

Only to come face to fist with Southern Italy, also known as Lovino Vargas.

Centuries of military training made Gilbert duck before he even knew what was going on and throw a preemptive kick. Lovino doubled over a little, but then straightened up with a face of pure rage.

"What the FUCK is your problem?" Gilbert was irritated too now. He did NOT like random fists flying his way when he answered the door. At least not when he wasn't expecting it, like from an enraged neighbouring country on whose lawn he'd pissed.

"YOUR FUCKTARD OF A FUCKING SON OF A BITCH BROTHER! WHERE IS HE?"

It appeared that Lovino was stuck at super volume, because Gil was pretty sure there shouldn't be so much shout in such a little guy. And why on earth was he pissed off at Ludwig now? It used to be quite frequent that Lovino would come over and drag his useless brother home, cursing all Germans along the way.

So, what was the reason for today's explosion? It was probably best to just ask, otherwise this screaming would make Ludwig interrupt his work and boy did he hate that.

"What the hell do you think he's done now?"

"That…that damn macho potato! He's….what he's done to Feli is unforgiveable! I'm gonna end him right now! Where is he?"

Lovino made to get into the house, as if he could actually take on either German brother. But a pale arm shot out in front of him and a crimson glare made him freeze in place. Gilbert narrowed his eyes and Lovino could see muscles bunch beneath white skin. How could someone look threatening in pajama bottoms?

The Italian wasn't easily intimidated, after all, his livelihood involved the mafia. But something about this pale predator, with his old, black tattoos….they reminded him of just what Germany, as a whole, was capable of. Not just Ludwig, that brawny muscle head. No, right here, there was danger lurking. The Italian's eyes wandered to that eagle on Gilbert's arm. The one sitting proudly on a swastika. Lovino gulped.

"Now…you listen to me, macho tomato," ruby eyes narrowed in anger, Gilbert's rough voice lowered into a threatening growl, "doesn't even think about comin' into my fucking house! I don't know what West did, but you ain't comin' in. And he ain't comin' out. So kindly go fuck yourself and get out of my country."

Fuming wasn't even a word for Lovino's face right now. His hand twitched toward the gun he always carried on him in case of sneak attacks from France. When Gilbert took a drag of his cigarette, Lovino used his chance and whipped out his weapon.

"Out of my way, bastardo! I am going to kill your brother!"

Never had Gilbert reacted faster to threat than this. In mere seconds, he had drop-kicked Lovino, grabbed the pistol punched the Italian in the face, hard. He walked over to him, letting the magazine of bullets drop into his hand and then tossing the pistol on the ground next to Lovino.

"Stop dreaming, you little son of a bitch. You'll never touch him."

Gilbert didn't wait for an answer, he merely turned back to his house and slammed the door shut.

"…This…this means war…Germany…" Lovino hissed beneath his pained breath before dragging himself to his feet to stumble home.

"West?"

Ludwig looked up from his work, surprised to see Gilbert with a serious expression on his face leaning in the doorway. He was also pleasantly aware of how little his brother was wearing.

"Ja Bruder?"

"…Ich hab grad Lovino Vargas zusammen geschlagen. Ich glaub, wir müssen uns mal unterhalten."

oh my, Lovi is a potty mouth.

Translations!

Halt die Schnauze!-Shut the fuck up!

Ja Bruder?-Yes brother?

Ich hab grad Lovino Vargas zusammen geschlagen. Ich glaub, wir müssen uns mal unterhalten.-

I just beat up Lovino Vargas. I think we need to have a talk.


	4. Keine Wege die mich führen

**Blut und Tränen**

**ho shit i am writing fanfic at work. xDDD**

**Sorry about the long wait, but gaming has taken over my life and I find myself not having time to write between work and game. XD**

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"There hasn't been an answer in five days!"

Arthur frowned as he listened to France's agitated voice. Weeks had passed since the last meeting, weeks since Germany's odd behaviour and his incident with Italy. Spain, under pressure from his precious Lovino, had given a sketchy report of what had happened to the other nations.

France had been first to raise alarm. He hadn't heard anything from his neighbours in too long...No call from Gilbert about a night on the town, not even a call from Ludwig to say anything about the lack of discipline at the previous meetings.

And the last time his neighbours had been this silent...well they had invaded him, twice, brutally.

Francis was anything but dense and he had grown weary of dissatisfied Germans.

But he, alongside almost everyone else, had figured that with their seperation and crushing defeat, both sides of Germany would be sick of war and never waste another thought on conquest.

Though Gilbert may daydream of 'glory days' where he could still wage war on anyone he chose, he wasn't stupid enough to think things would be as easy today. Well, they hadn't been simple back then either, with Prussia teetering on its position as weakest of the European superpowers. Constantly switching alliances and working his way around the ancient grudges between France, Austria and Russia, Gilbert had always known how to turn a bad situation around.

But Prussia's days were long past and the albino had seemed content enough to be reunited with his brother and reliving the old days only in nostalgic memories.

So what was going on now? Arthur listened to some more french worries without really paying attention. He himself still, after all these years, was incredibly glad his lands were an island. Germany had been his rival for so long in the minds of his people that a certain amount of that feeling had transferred to him. What were those damn Kra...Germans up to?

Maybe they were all wrong and presuming the worst. Perhaps Ludwig had overworked himself, he was known for that after all...and they had decided on a sort of vacation?

No, that was nearly as ridiculous as thinking they could be planning a recreation of the world wars they had started.

But there was the next thought to consider. It hadn't exactly been only those two that had started it. All of them had been hungry for war. And all of them had suffered enough to not want a repeat. A war on the scale of the first world war now would end in a nuclear catastrophe, especially if Russia and the USA decided to duke out all that leftover Cold War tension.

No, war was a bad idea and even that idiot albino knew that.

Great Britain cut off the worried frenchman and hung up. He didn't want to bicker with his ancient enemy now, he wanted to consider a course of action.

They had to give Ludwig the benefit of the doubt, of course. They should...hold another meeting. Requiring full attendance of course. That would lure the duty-driven German out and then, Arthur could confront him about this withdrawn change of character. Perfect!

Arthur smiled with content at his own plan and decided to shove the nagging worries from his mind. He had better things to than to think about Germans, for example, anything.

Gilbert sighed as he knocked at the door again. He didn't expect an answer, since he hadn't gotten one for the last five times he'd tried. This was starting to get annoying. Especially since there was little to no reason for it...Well...okay, maybe there was some reason. He remembered the conversation from a week ago too well.

The one where he had told Ludwig what he had done with Lovino Vargas, better known as the southern, bitchy half of sunny Italy.

It hadn't gone over well. Ludwig had nearly imploded with anger at Gilbert's tactless behaviour. He should have found out what the reason for Lovino's attack had been, gotten Ludwig and they could have settled this whole mess! Now they had something on them and with their reputation, something like this could spark a much bigger wave of trouble. Lovino wouldn't keep the fight he had with Gilbert a secret and as soon as the other nations caught wind of it, they would be suspicious of Germany once more. The trust Ludwig had worked his ass off to get was slipping from his grasp once more, all because of Gilbert's careless behaviour!

The albino thought it entirely unnecessary to blame him for this, especially since Lovino had attacked him first and without provocation.

But Gilbert had certainly learned to take the blame. And that was what he told his brother in an icy tone and an accusing glare.

Ludwig had looked away, guiltstricken and frustrated, then he had sent Gilbert out of his study, asking to be left alone.

Gilbert had done him that favour, cooling his own temper by avoiding any contact with the blond man for days. But a week had passed now and Ludwig had not spoken a word to him. The mood in the house was frosty and even their various pets were feeling the effects. The dogs didn't dare bark, though the made their needs known through scratching and whining. Gilbert's pet bird seemed silent on its perch, always fluttering away nervously when it heard a door in the house shut.

This tension was really starting to piss him off. Gilbert had learned long ago his brother was wired very differently to him, but that didn't mean he could do as he pleased. It was fair and fine for Ludwig to sulk, but to stay this pissed off for so long was simply childish. And that was something Germany was no longer allowed to be.

A pale hand knocked on the dark wooden door of Germany's study once more. Again, no answer.

Gilbert wondered briefly if his brother was trying to see how long his brother could go without seeing him, but he waved that thought aside. Ludwig simply wasn't that childish.

_Go away!_

Ludwig gripped the pen in his hand as the footsteps echoed down the hallway. So Gilbert had given up again for today. Good. The blond really couldn't stand anymore of the tension in their house.

Nor could he stand to look at his brother right now. His pale, beautiful, devil of a brother. His demon and his angel, the only one capable of bringing out the best and worst in him.

He cursed his brother for his influence and he cursed himself for his inability to get a grip on this situation.

Still no reconciliation with Italy. Still no answer from Spain. It was driving him insane. He had no idea what he had done back then, had no idea of what had made Lovino snap and Feliciano to be afraid to answer the phone when he called.

The paper in front of him swam in and out of his vision. He was feeling so tired lately, though he could at least explain that to himself. He hadn't been able to sleep soundly without Gilbert next to him. And for the last week, they hadn't even breathed the same air in a room. How much longer did this have to continue? Ludwig was furious, confused, hurt and still ragingly jealous. Whoever Gilbert had been seeing, he was sure as hell gonna get a lion's share of the albino's time now, right?

Argh, there was the headache again. Like an old battlewound, it just started aching at any time of the day and no amount of aspirin, ibuprofen or paracetemol seemed to conquer it. It wasn't due to his economy, since he only ever experienced stomachaches where it was concerned...

This was more like getting a jackhammer to the back of his skull whilst it hazed its vision and forced him to lose focus on anything he did.

He would lie down, just for ten minutes, that should take care of his headache. Then he would call France to see if his chatty neighbour had heard anything about Italy's distress. Then he would talk to his brother and get him to sleep in his bed again. Perfect. He had it all planned out and this horrible week could just be forgotten.

Ludwig closed his eyes and relaxed onto the cool leather of his sofa. Just ten minutes..

A scream of fear pierced the night air. Their eyes were wide with panic, not sure if it was a nightmare, an apparition or simply a cruel trick. The man in front of them couldn't be real. There was no way...

They huddled against the building, knees giving out as that man paced towards them. The lack of emotion on his face was as frightening as his appearance.

She wrapped her arms around her sister, not daring to eye the still body a little further off that was her brother.

The man said something in a language she did not understand, but had been raised to fear; he spoke german.

She whimpered and cried, begging him to leave them alone in her own tongue, which only coaxed a cruel smirk from him. He lifted his head a little, far enough for the moonlight to illuminate his features. How could anyone have such eyes of ice...?

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**(hoo, no german in this one...i'm grateful to all of you who reviewed, i hope you like this :D)**


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